


Under The Dimmed Lights (Our Shadows Dance Together)

by stereoslash



Category: UNIQ (Band), UP10TION, X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Voyeurism, happy fucking birthday to the nation's princess ( and seungyoun's princess ) kim wooseok, here's a smut fic to celebrate your 23rd, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 11:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereoslash/pseuds/stereoslash
Summary: Wooseok is broke and Seungwoo has a proposition.





	Under The Dimmed Lights (Our Shadows Dance Together)

**Author's Note:**

> I crammed this in a day, so if it's subpar, you know why. I can only hope I was able to do this prompt justice because it sounded like the Best Fucking Idea in my head. Title taken from "Focus On Me" by Jus2.

The reality that he’s been disowned doesn’t really hit Wooseok until three days later. Sure, his already narrow living space has been made all the more cramped with the addition of the rest of his belongings (lugging them out of the old house hadn’t been an easy feat without as much as a helping hand from either of his parents), but spending hours upon hours sitting rigid in lecture halls — his brain sputtering under the weight of so much information being forced onto it all at once — wears him out enough that he hardly pays his surroundings any mind the moment he gets back to his dorm room; instead electing to wash up as best he can before falling face-first onto the mattress and straight into a dreamless sleep. This, then, is how Monday passes; Tuesday, too — and by the time Wednesday rolls around, Wooseok finds himself wanting to drop by the nearby cafe for something to keep him awake throughout the day’s lectures, but a quick glance at the bills in his wallet informs him that a coffee run wouldn’t exactly be ideal if he wanted to make sure that he had enough money to get him through the rest of the month.

Wooseok’s fucked. He knows this. He’s only two months into his first semester as a senior, with the lack of a job being attributed to the fact that he’s simply too preoccupied with coursework to do anything but rest whenever he finds time for a breather; but now that he’s been “cut loose” (words that his father must’ve thought served as a euphemism for disowning his son on account of his sexuality), he’d have no choice but to give up sleep just so he could earn enough money to cover his own expenses. It’s just his luck that the semester’s dorm fees have already been paid in full at the beginning of the academic year, but food continues to be a pressing matter (if Wooseok looked far enough ahead, he’d find that his university fees for the following semester loom ever ominously), and he finds himself poring over the job listings in the morning paper — making a mental note to print out several copies of his resume once his classes are done for the afternoon.

Learning is a distraction, and Wooseok welcomes it all too easily; focusing on the task at hand rather than allowing his mind to fixate on all of the problems that lay beyond the four corners of the classroom. Wooseok is pleased to find that, for the time being, he is still able to perform as well as he usually does academically; and not once do his thoughts stray towards other pressing matters — enabling him to take a moment and just _breathe_. He’s humming a song he heard on the radio as he makes use of the university library’s printer, copy after copy of his updated resume being churned out in succession; and his eyes are fixated onto the inked sheets when a shadow falls over them and bids him to look up, up, and higher still until his eyes meet Han Seungwoo’s steady gaze.

They don’t quite know each other, is the thing. They’re certainly aware of each other’s existence — Wooseok can easily recall how they had once grappled for the same subject matter in one of their shared psychology classes — but they hadn’t so much as breathed a word in the other’s direction outside of class. Han Seungwoo is arguably one of the richest bastards in the university, after all, and Wooseok himself is just a little above average (or perhaps he’s a tad below it in light of recent events). Their social circles simply do not coincide, and Wooseok supposes that neither of them had found any cause to amend that before today. As such, the other male’s presence prompts Wooseok to lift a questioning brow; hands working to gather his printouts and staple the sheets together as he asks Seungwoo what he could help the older male with.

“I heard you got disowned.” Comes the response, causing Wooseok to falter; and it’s only through sheer luck that he’s able to grip the stapler more firmly even as it threatens to clatter onto the floor between their feet. “That must’ve stung.”

“How the hell did you even find out?” Wooseok inquires, every bit as puzzled as his tone might suggest; because Jinhyuk was the only person that Wooseok had relayed the story to (a privilege borne out of bucketful upon bucketful of shared life experiences that were bound to come with a friendship that spans more than a decade). He tells Seungwoo as much, growing infinitely more curious as to how the other male chanced upon the information, and the retort has Wooseok’s eyes rolling towards the heavens.

“How does that saying go again?” Seungwoo starts, seemingly deep in thought; gestures purposely exaggerated and allowing Wooseok to see right through the ruse, “‘Tight ass, loose lips’? Your friend let it slip, Kim.” Seungwoo presses on, and Wooseok curses the way the other male seems all too delighted by the disgust painted across his face; letting out a gruff ‘that saying doesn’t even exist’ before continuing to get his papers in order. He’s fully expecting the other male to be on his way, but Seungwoo lingers; unnerving as he tracks each of Wooseok’s movements — so much so that Wooseok meets his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, wordlessly bidding the other to speak out on whatever it is that he might need.

“Are you clean?” Is the awaited response, and the stapler really _does_ end up on the floor this time; but Seungwoo pays it no mind, swiftly amending his statement instead. “And don’t even try to play daft with me, Kim. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

“I am. The university asks us to get tested at the start of each academic year, remember? I can even show you my results if you’re so curious.” Wooseok finds himself retorting, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that he’s able to keep a nonchalant air; looking over the stack of papers in his hand one last time before sequestering them safely into a folder, soon turning on his heel and beginning to make his way out of the library — and Seungwoo moves to keep pace as Wooseok had thought he would. “I still don’t see what that has to do with anything, though.”

Seungwoo turns to him then, brows raised as if to ask ‘do you really have no clue?’ and the belated realisation has Wooseok stopping in his tracks, folder in his hands being raised and meeting the taller male’s shoulder with two, three slaps — blows progressively gaining force what with the way his reaction seems to inspire nothing but mirth in the other man.

“Listen, listen.” Seungwoo begins, words accompanied by a huff of a laugh, hands closing around thin wrists to prevent any further hits; and Wooseok draws his hands out of the elder’s grip, offense still painted plainly across his face — but he waits for Seungwoo to elaborate all the same. “You’ve been disowned, and judging by the pile of resumes you were printing out just now, you could definitely use the money. Hand those out wherever you can, if you will, but they’d all take at least a week to get back to you. You know this, Kim. It’d be easier to say yes.”

“Will you be recording?” Is what Wooseok finds himself saying, evidently taking both of them by surprise; and he can’t even _begin_ to fathom where the words had come from — Wooseok had meant to refuse right away, he _swears_ he had, but as the seconds tick by he grows all the more uncertain of where his morals lie (necessity, he finds, leaves an awful lot of room to test one’s limits).

“Jesus, no. I wasn’t planning on it, and I’d never do it without your consent. Even if I _did_ want to, it would mean extra pay — but as I’ve said, I’ll only push through with it if you fully agree to it. I’m not trying to catch a case here, Kim.” Seungwoo still appears to be well and truly floored by his question, Wooseok thinks (even more so considering the fact that it’s coupled with the implication that Wooseok is actually considering his offer); but Seungwoo is quick to school his features into neutrality, and Wooseok breathes a little easier upon learning that he wouldn’t have to worry about any lasting evidence on the off chance that he ever ends up agreeing — an _off chance_ that, to Wooseok’s horror, seems to grow all the more tempting by the second.

Seungwoo must be aware of the thoughts that are traveling a mile a minute inside Wooseok’s brain (or perhaps the indecision is shown all too clearly on Wooseok’s face), because the elder’s next words feel like a punch to the gut — “You know you’re too broke to say no.” — and Wooseok despises the fact that he can’t even disagree. The smile that spreads across Seungwoo’s face is nothing short of victorious, and Wooseok’s phone lies heavy in his hand when they part — the metaphorical weight of the elder’s number seemingly boring through the metal of the phone and onto Wooseok’s skin. Wooseok stares after the older male as he leaves, still plenty dazed and wondering what the _hell_ he has gotten himself into.

* * *

Seungwoo’s flat, as it turns out, lies just about as far from the campus as the university dorms do — with the difference being the fact that it’s located in the opposite direction (and lying smack in the middle of the more affluent sector of the city to boot). The ornaments in the lobby alone must cost more than his entire wardrobe does, Wooseok thinks, and he does his best to force the thought from his mind lest he ends up working himself even deeper into anxiety. He attempts to hold onto the thought that the difference in status doesn’t matter (though the very context of his visit revolves around this very fact), and that his wardrobe matters even less — he had, quite adamantly, refused to don the more expensive items in his closet for fear of what the added effort might imply (in the recesses of his mind, the thought of dressing up hovers dangerously close to the words ‘painted whore’); and he finds himself toying with the hem of his tee as he waits for the lift to reach Seungwoo’s floor, the action serving to alleviate some of the nervousness that’s been plaguing him from the moment that he and Seungwoo had spoken just a few hours prior.

He hasn’t put a lot of thought into how the night may pan out, electing to cross that particular bridge the moment it looms too close to ignore; and, save for the brief phone call that he had shared with Jinhyuk after he had gotten back to his dorm (“Why did you even tell him? So much for ‘ride or die’, Lee.” “I was riding him _and_ dying in the process, Kim.”), Wooseok hasn’t given himself time to assess his most recent life choices at all — dreading the possibility that sitting down and reevaluating the situation rationally would have him running for the hills; because the bitter reality is that he is very much in need of money and just the right shade of desperate to agree to what Seungwoo had proposed.

Wooseok finds himself on the third floor in what seems like no time at all, and he steels himself before stepping out into the hallway; eyes scanning the numbers embossed on each door until he happens upon the unit that was listed on the message Seungwoo had sent him. There’s a man standing in front of it, and for a moment Wooseok thinks that it might be Seungwoo himself; but as he draws close enough to see the other male more clearly, Wooseok finds that the figure doesn’t belong to Seungwoo at all — features calling into mind the memory of the taller male sitting just a few chairs down from him in one of the university’s lecture halls.

It’s Seungyoun, Wooseok thinks, or at very least it _should_ be if his memory serves him correctly; and he’s puzzled as he takes the other male in (white shirt stretched across broad shoulders and pressed cream trousers providing a stark contrast to Wooseok’s too-dark jeans), becoming more puzzled still as he begins to wonder what Seungyoun could possibly be doing here; but he’s unable to dwell on it for too long as Seungwoo chooses that exact moment to open the door — letting slip a brief ‘oh, good, you’re here’ before beckoning both Wooseok and Seungyoun inside.

“I take it you know each other?” Seungwoo prompts as he leads them through the halls, and in between doing his damnedest to keep pace with the elder’s long strides and the questions raging inside Wooseok’s mind, there’s scant room to appreciate the obvious wealth that surrounds them — so Wooseok simply chooses to follow along, allowing Seungyoun to answer the question for both of them (“Wooseok and I have Sociology together.” Seungyoun had said, and Wooseok is surprised that the other male knew him at all) as he attempts to talk himself into vocalizing the query that sits at the tip of his tongue.

“Here we are,” Is what Seungwoo says next, ushering the two of them into the bedroom, and Wooseok’s thoughts kick right into gear; the question that’s been eddying around in his brain from the moment he spotted Seungyoun outside finally making its way out of his mouth — words just a touch too fretful, just a touch too _concerned_.

“Am I going to have to…?” Wooseok’s faltering, not quite able to continue; and out of the corner of his eye he spots Seungyoun drawing his shirt up and over his head — and he promptly averts his gaze in an effort to clutch at the rapidly fraying threads of his sanity. “I’ve never actually — “

“ — fucked two people at once?” Seungwoo talks over Wooseok then, apparently versed in deciphering the silence that comprises the end of each statement; legs stretched out in front of him as he settles into the armchair tucked into a corner of the room. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll be here watching you have your fill.”

Seungwoo redirects his attention to Seungyoun in the next second, and Wooseok realizes belatedly that the latter had stripped down to nothing; Seungwoo waving him off as if to instruct him to do the same — and Wooseok does, back turned in a fruitless attempt to maintain some level of modesty. It’s strange, Wooseok thinks. It’s not as if he lacks pride in the way he looks (quite the opposite, really), and it’s certainly not as if he’s never done anything remotely sexual before; yet he feels too small, too exposed, the weight of the taller males’ gazes bearing down on him — and he’s cautious as he sidles up to Seungyoun, not quite certain what to do with himself; so it’s a relief when Seungwoo speaks, providing a momentary reprieve from the pounding in his chest and the pandemonium of his thoughts.

“Did you get off today?” Seungwoo’s looking at Seungyoun as he talks, the query met with an affirmative; and Seungwoo nods, chin soon being propped up against his palm. “Good. You should have no problems with holding off, then. Suck him off while you work yourself open, won’t you?” The tail end of the statement is directed at Wooseok, and his shoulders give a slight start upon being addressed; somehow managing a nod before moving to lessen the distance as Seungyoun moves to settle on the foot of the bed — legs parted and Wooseok standing in the space between them.

Wooseok’s nervous, unsure; the absurdity of the situation not at all lost on him even as his eyes rake over the ink that’s usually tucked away underneath the taller male’s clothes. Seungyoun must sense his unease, because within moments he’s got his hands on Wooseok’s skin; touch soft, gentle, as palms settle on the curve of Wooseok’s waist — and Wooseok tries not to dwell on how the contact makes him feel _small_ in the most pleasant way. Seungyoun’s pressing kisses onto his stomach, feather-light and brief, and Wooseok feels the tension seeping slowly out of his frame; growing lax enough to comply almost straight away as Seungyoun tells him to get on his knees. There’s a bottle of lube being pressed into his hands once he settles, having been retrieved from where it was placed on the bed; and Wooseok warms some of it up in between delicate digits — legs parting as he moves to reach behind him.

Seungyoun’s got a hand on his jaw, drawing his chin upwards and allowing his thumb to rest against the seam of Wooseok’s lips; soon parting them wide enough to press the pad flat against Wooseok’s tongue — and Wooseok laves at the digit just as his index presses into his own heat. That same finger is soon replaced by the other male’s length, Wooseok mirroring the previous ministration as he teases at Seungyoun’s slit; lips closing around the head of Seungyoun’s cock — his gaze locked onto the male’s all the while. A hand finds its way onto Wooseok’s strands, and Seungyoun presses shallowly into the heat of Wooseok’s mouth; the movement drawing a muffled keen as Wooseok mirrors the elder’s pace — digit slipping in and out of his taint in time with Seungyoun’s thrusts.

It’s a little too much, Wooseok thinks, a little too much yet somehow not enough — the weight of him and the taste of him clouding Wooseok’s thoughts and making it far too difficult to pay attention to anything else even as he draws more fingers into himself; digits erring on the side of graceless as he allows himself to be used. Someone must have noticed as much, because the next thing Wooseok knows, he’s being guided to his feet; and he does his best not to whine at the loss as he lies face down on the bed as instructed. Off to one side, Seungwoo bids Seungyoun to pick up where Wooseok had left off, evidently not trusting Wooseok enough to be able to focus on the task at hand — and Wooseok feels himself flushing at the reminder that he had gotten a little too drunk at the contact, flushing harder still as a hand draws his legs further apart.

Seungyoun’s digits are slick as they press into him, slow, curling motions pulling soft noises out of his mouth; and Seungyoun’s fingers aren’t quite as long as Wooseok’s own, but they’re certainly much thicker than what he’s used to — and the slight burn of the stretch has Wooseok’s hips pressing against the sheets. He’s gripping at the covers, previously muffled keens pitching higher at Seungyoun’s encouragement; and he catches Seungwoo’s eye as his head is drawn to one side — the weight of Seungwoo’s gaze seemingly tangible as it traces over Wooseok’s skin. There’s heat flooding Wooseok’s frame, prompted by the attention; pace stuttering as he shifts between fucking himself onto Seungyoun’s fingers and rutting against the covers — and all it takes is two, three cants for him to spill onto the linen; mouth parted in a broken cry.

Wooseok feels himself being lifted as he works to catch his breath, chest heaving even as he finds himself being guided onto Seungyoun’s lap, snapping into attention the moment he feels the other’s cock pushing at his hole; and he barely has time to brace his hands against Seungyoun’s shoulders before he’s sinking onto the other’s length — and it’s a little too much, too soon; thighs drawing taut where they rest on either side of Seungyoun’s thighs as he stifles a whimper against the column of the elder’s neck. Seungyoun’s motionless as he allows Wooseok to adjust, only moving to trace soothing patterns onto the base of Wooseok’s spine; and for that, Wooseok is grateful — drawing closer as open-mouthed kisses map out the line of his clavicle, a whispered ‘tell me to move and I will’ being pressed against his skin.

It takes a beat and then two for Wooseok to nod, brief kisses and the thumbs tracing at each nub causing his length to curve up against his stomach once more; and Seungyoun starts off slow — grip firm where his hands come to a rest on Wooseok’s hips. Wooseok finds that he’s unable to stem the flow of noises spilling from his mouth, sounds filling the room and the space between them; growing louder as the rhythm starts to change — just a touch sharper, just a touch more frantic; and Wooseok mouths at Seungyoun’s jaw as a response.

“Look at me,” Seungyoun says, voice ringing clear as it cuts through the fog that’s quickly beginning to spread across Wooseok’s brain, and Wooseok complies; pulling back far enough to meet the other’s gaze. He must have made some sort of noise, Wooseok thinks, because something in Seungyoun’s expression _shifts_; and then Seungyoun’s lips are on his, soon licking into his mouth — the contact prompting the taller male to grip his hips hard enough to bruise, Wooseok’s nails digging crescents onto the flesh of Seungyoun’s shoulder; one hand soon finding its way between them to wrap around his cock. Wooseok’s keening, leaning impossibly closer in an attempt to press his mouth against the other’s once more; and it’s not as much as a kiss as trading breaths and mere brushes of the lips — and Wooseok comes, forehead coming to a rest against Seungyoun’s shoulder as he spills into his fist.

It takes just a little longer for him to come to this time around, and he’s able to catch a brief ‘again’ by the time sights and sounds begin to flood his senses once more; the word spoken in Seungwoo’s voice and followed by Seungyoun maneuvering him to settle in the space between his legs — and Wooseok’s pliant, limbs loose as he slumps boneless against the other’s frame; unable to do much of anything as Seungyoun’s legs hook over his. It’s almost as if he’s put on display just like this, Wooseok thinks, legs spread wide as Seungyoun draws them apart; and Seungyoun guides still-slick digits to wrap around his length. Wooseok hisses at the contact, all too sensitive still, his free hand clutching weakly at the other’s knee; and he’s unable to utter anything more than breathless little sighs as Seungyoun guides him to his peak for a third time — Seungyoun leaning forward for the briefest press of the lips as Wooseok comes apart.

* * *

Seungwoo’s leaning against the sink when Wooseok steps out of the shower, and he would be bothered by his state of undress if not for the fact that there isn’t much left to be ashamed of — not when he’s faced with someone who’s watched him make a mess of himself three times over — and so Wooseok pays him little mind, eyes fixated on the mirror as he fires off a query regarding Seungyoun's whereabouts; and it’s almost a miracle that he’s also able to find it in him to ask whether or not Seungwoo has given Seungyoun the same offer he’d extended to Wooseok.

“Taking a cold shower, I’d imagine. I did tell him not to get off, after all.” Seungwoo answers simply, holding up a towel for Wooseok to use, and Wooseok takes it — soon running the material through wet strands. “But no, I didn’t. Seungyoun just likes being told what to do sometimes. You should keep that in mind. It’s not as if he needs to get paid for it, anyway. Seungyoun’s got more money than he knows what to do with.”

“Aren’t you just about the same?” It’s not much of a query, Wooseok raising an expectant brow as he towels off completely; soon reaching out to grab at his clothes where they’re placed atop the sink (and he’s not quite certain what to do with the information he’s been presented with, electing to file it away instead).

“I thought that much was obvious. Why else would I pay you to have sex with my best friend?” The response is paired with a laugh, and Seungwoo’s holding up an envelope when he’s done; watching as Wooseok takes a look at the contents and promptly putting a halt to any objections that might form. “What’s with the face? Did you want me to take some of it back? You should wear that, by the way.”

“Don’t you dare. I earned this, Han. I thought I was going to die.” Wooseok fires back, following the older male’s line of sight and finding the garment Seungwoo had indicated — a striped long-sleeved shirt that Wooseok can already tell would be much too large on his lithe frame. “That’s huge. My clothes should work just fine. It’s not like I got anything on them, anyway.” Wooseok protests, but Seungwoo simply fixes him with a look, gesturing at the envelope clutched in his hand; and Wooseok concedes — soon making his way out of the flat and into the parking lot.

Seungyoun’s waiting just as Seungwoo said he would be, the eldest of the three having roped Seungyoun into driving Wooseok home. Seungyoun’s changed into a dark shirt and loose pants, Wooseok notes; and it’s not as if he himself is scantily clad (though the shirt he’s been lent hangs just a little too loosely from his shoulders, at the very least it’s not slipping off), but the way Seungyoun’s gaze lingers just a beat too long on the strip of skin that shows — drifting back to the same spot every now and then throughout the course of the ride — has Wooseok feeling all too exposed, calling to mind the events that had occurred prior; Wooseok laid bare and vulnerable and so damn _small_ in Seungyoun’s hold.

“That’s my shirt,” Seungyoun states by way of explanation, eyes fixated on the road for the time being, “did Seungwoo give it to you?” He adds, and Wooseok stumbles his way through an apology, promising to have it washed before giving it back — but Seungyoun waves him off, simply commenting that it suits him and telling him that he could keep it if he wished, and Wooseok promptly decides that it’s a choice that could wait another day; instead directing his gaze outside the car window in a bid to conceal the subtle flush that’s surely beginning to tint his cheeks.

They spend the rest of the trip in silence, and it doesn’t take very long for the car to come to a halt in front of the university dorms; Wooseok turning to face Seungyoun and thanking him for the ride before wishing him a good night and climbing off. He’s just about ready to make his way into the building, but he finds himself turning around instead; rapping once, twice against the car window in an effort to draw the other’s attention — and Seungyoun rolls the window down, brows raised and expectant as he wordlessly prompts Wooseok to elaborate.

“Do you want to come in?”

**Author's Note:**

> I did choose three of my favorite Seungyoun fits, sue me. You can find the first fit [here](https://i.ibb.co/Jv0dg0t/4-D27964-A-728-E-4-EC6-A3-C4-12-DF4-D2-F3-F96.jpg), the second fit [here](https://i.ibb.co/qRbhGQB/39-E6-DEB4-6-FC9-4075-AA50-D15-E5-E4423-AA.png), and the sweater [here](https://i.ibb.co/J5MQg5n/92-D49-E31-A941-47-BD-8-F65-D371-A426263-F.jpg). Let me know how much you think Wooseok's ass is worth in the comments below. You can also hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seungseokhq) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woodz_). Again, happy fucking birthday to Kim Wooseok. This glorious day should be a holiday.


End file.
